


Snapshots of Life

by BeatItImWriting



Category: Original Work
Genre: Character Death, F/M, Other, Random - Freeform, Randomness, Sad, Short Stories
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-10-06 20:29:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 3,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17352074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeatItImWriting/pseuds/BeatItImWriting
Summary: Random short stories that might make you sad or might make you laugh. Depends on my mood.





	1. Free of Charge

As a drop of red liquid fell, staining the floor, I heard a weak whimper. Another splotch joined the growing, blood red puddle, and I heard the same voice start to outright bawl. I glanced up quickly, watching the scarlet juice run down her fingers, then went back to work before sympathy got the best of me and I did something I would regret. The 5-year old seemed to be physically pained, but I worked to quell my growing idea of rebellion. I moved away with great effort and tried to ignore the small sniffles, but it was all in vain. I gave up in my efforts, turning towards the red-eyed child. With a glance around, I called towards her quietly, waiting for the girl to approach me. I cleaned her up, wiping the sticky liquid off her hands and face, then handed her a new popsicle, free of charge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed that little piece of writing. Most of my writing is either this long or a few times longer. Thank you for reading!
> 
> Now,
> 
> Beat It. I'm Reading.


	2. My Heart

I watched him kneel down, pulling a small, black box out of his pocket. My small gasp went unnoticed as he slowly lifted the lid, revealing a simple gold band with small blue diamonds at even intervals. He started a grand speech, describing exactly why he wanted to marry the "beautiful lady in front of him". I started to tear up halfway through his speech, and by the end, my face was wet with tears. His words were passionate and heartfelt, capturing my soul in a tight grip. I watched him finish his speech, finally looking up, waiting for an answer. I watched her launch herself into his arms with a clear yes, smiling from ear to ear. I watched their embrace, feeling his hand tighten around my heart until it shattered.


	3. The Right Choice

He handed it to me, the absence of noise deafening.

_Make the right choice._

It fell from my hand, breaking the silence momentarily.

_Make the right choice._

I picked it up and moved it away.

_Make the right choice._

I turned my attention to what I should have been focusing on.

_Make the right choice._

I glanced back down, the decision weighing heavy in my brain.

_Make the right choice._

Was it worth it? The momentary joy, the glimpse of satisfaction?

_Make the right choice._

As someone walked past, I pretended to be engrossed in my phone.

_Make the right choice._

My eyes wandered back like a boomerang, returning to their starting point.

_Make the right choice._

I tried to push the thoughts away.

_Make the right choice._

Every glance weakened my resolve.

_Make the right choice._

I couldn't do it.

_Make the righ-_

I unwrapped the cookie as quietly as I could, taking big, slow bites.

_I should not have done that._


	4. Another Climber

His breath was short and quick, filling the atmosphere with puffs of white fog. Chest heaving, legs shaking, he continued to place one foot in front of the other. His determination showed on his youthful face as he pulled himself over one more hulking boulder, one more sloping ridge. An approaching mass of weathered stone towered over him in a waterfall of green moss and vine. His slow, casual gait betrayed no dismay as he advanced on the wall, a soldier ready to defeat his next challenge. One hand found purchase, then the next followed with confidence and conviction. One foot up, then the other, legs straightening and arms bending. One stretched arm, one bent leg, one extended hand, one curved limb, he continued to creep up the vertical wall. Then his hand fell short. Imbalance overtook him, and he became just another climber.


	5. Traveling the World

"Alright, let's do this." He gripped the suitcase in his hand tightly, double checking his phone and wallet were secure. He stepped towards the faded globe on his desk, using his free hand to spin it slowly, then faster after a second. It spun by once, twice, three times, before he placed his finger on it. And when he did, the rattling of the old globe turned into the roar of waves and caws of gulls.

It first happened in kindergarten when his teacher pulled out the globe to tell them about the continents. His tiny hands wanted to spin it, and he wasn't the type to take no for an answer. Before his teacher could stop him, it was spiraling around and around to the complete delight of everyone. When he put his hand on it to speed it up, the child suddenly found himself somewhere else. He stood up to realize he was at a park near his house. When his parents found him, their cries of relief echoed throughout the street.

The second time was in fourth grade. Living in Texas meant the history of the lone star state was a required part of the curriculum. The globe happened to be on the desk connected to his own, and Texas being annexed to the US was not particularly interesting. Spinning the globe once, he watched the continents go by, the names popping into his head one by one. His hand came back to down to keep it moving, but that never happened. In the blink of an eye, he found himself at a beach, sprawled in the sand, feet away from water. His hands went to the phone in his pocket, calling his parents in a panic. Their car arrived at the beach town in a few hours, parents and child relieved.

The third time was in tenth grade, as he hadn't touched a globe since the traumatic experience from six years ago. The world history assignment was to spin the globe, place your finger down, and write a paper on the country. His fear almost had him asking his friend to do it for him, but a last minute choice to try had him approaching the globe with trembling fingers. His spin was quick, but when his finger came down, the classroom disappeared. He looked around to see _The Eiffel Tower_. His mouth went slack at the brightly lit structure, phone momentarily forgotten. When he regained his senses, his call to his parents started with, "You won't believe where I am."

His parents had finally given him the talk. No, not _that_ talk. The one about all the weird occurrences. They explained the power passed down since the beginning of time, and how he was the next Traveller. How spinning a globe and placing his finger down would take him to the place he touched. How he was very lucky he hadn't gone to Antarctica when he was 6. And how he wasn't allowed to go anywhere else until he was 18.

His fourth time was before college and, of course, with parent supervision. Father gripping his hand tightly, he spun the globe with purpose. When he put his hand down, he watched the new scenery create itself around him, a green field with trees dotting it. His father gave a small chuckle while looking around, congratulating his son with a nod and smile.

After many, many practice runs, he was finally going by himself. Waving to his parents, he placed his finger down on the already spinning globe. He heard a whoosh before raising his head up to look around, expecting another exotic jungle or breathtaking structure. What he found was the local elementary school. Sighing, he walked home in disappointment.

He had packed a suitcase this time. Choosing a place for vacations and fees for transportation were never a problem, and he had a week off. He went through the normal routine, avoiding touching the globe a second time after spinning it and bracing himself for the rush of air. His finger went down. The hiss of space moving together met his ears as he felt himself fall, feet only meeting water. He felt himself sink more before realising his clothes were soaked in salt water, and so was his suitcase. He turned his head, finding land only a few yards away. _Why couldn't my finger have landed a few centimeters to the left!_


	6. Here and There

She was reading in bed. She flips the page.

A screech of tires on concrete.

She gets up, looking for a water bottle

A crash of metal against metal.

She gulps down the water quickly, finishing it in one go.

A murmur of words from the witness to police

She walks back to her room and bed

A whir of sirens in the night

She lifts the covers and slips under the sheets

An order from paramedics to bystanders

She replaces the book in her lap, finding the page once again

A rushed call to close friends

She stretches her feet, blinks her eyes.

A search for direct family

She hears a faint buzzing noise from her phone

"Hello?"

"Sweetie, your parents are dead."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a bit confusing, so I'm sorry for that. Hopefully it makes sense by the end.
> 
> Now,
> 
> Beat It. I'm Reading.


	7. Trinkets

The tears were still streaking down your face when his family approached you. His sister held a brown shipping box in her hand, hastily sealed with packaging tape. When she thrust it towards you, you accepted it without thought. You were too drained to think about what it could be. Now, you sit in your room, watching the inconspicuous package. Your quivering hands rip the tape off, barely lifting the flaps. Reaching inside, you feel a bundle of papers. Rustling disturbs the silence as you pull them out, slowly folding back the corner of the first page. You recognize the slope of the words and funny dots on the I's immediately, pausing as you read the date of 2 weeks before.

_If you are reading this, the cancer finally caught up with me. I asked Sarah to give this to you once I was gone because I needed to tell you something. Please don't get mad at me once you've read this because I know you will and you'll get that amused-exasperated look you get when I do something stupid. You know I couldn't stand that look._

_I love you. Every day you visit me, I want to lean over and kiss your pink lips. I want to stare at you forever and have no one question it. I love the way you bop your head to any song that's playing, whether you know it or not. I love the way you dance around the kitchen before dinner while your mom sets everything out. I love how passionate you are about life. I love the way you smile at me when I've said something foolish. I love how optimistic you are, always looking for the best in everything. For god's sake, you tried to tell me it was good I was in the hospital because now I wouldn't have to sit through lectures and tests at school. I love everything about you, and I always will._

_Don't Forget Me,_

_Malik_

Tears start to pour down your face. You slowly peel back the flaps of the box, glancing in to find trinkets of different shapes and sizes. A picture frame catches your eye and you pull it out hesitantly. Under the glass, the two of you are beaming at the camera, dressed to a tee. You remember that day, when you went to your first dance together, not knowing any better. He was in a tuxedo and you wore a simple scarlet dress. Placing it down, you reach back in, finding a thin notebook. You flip through the pages of your bucket list, outlining the places you would go once you were old enough and the things you were going to do. He had always been so excited about it, adding something new as soon as you had finished a task together. You trace the words "visit Paris", feeling saltwater start to soak the page before quickly putting it away. At the very bottom of the box was a postcard you had sent him from Canada when your family was in Vancouver. The city line gleamed in the sunlight, seeming almost ethereal. You had written all about the trip, cramping your writing into the small space. You recall when he got it, his cocky demeanor showing through at the part when you stated how much you missed him. The short trip had resulted in your already being home by the time it came in, so you were there to see his reaction in all its glory.

You place everything back in the box, slowly shutting your items and feelings away. Your eyes close as you descend into visions of laughing boys and the Eiffel Tower.


	8. The Fire

The darkened hallway was silent, save for the echoes of light-hearted conversation from far away. He crept through the dark with caution, every step quiet and thoughtful. He opened and closed his hands with his fluctuating thoughts, his heartbeat thunderous in his ears. The urge to run was overwhelming, but any extra noise would get him caught, and he could _not_ get caught.

The back door gave a faint creak as he opened and shut it with care. He surveyed the garden, eyes catching on the rusted, unused slide and swing, and the clump of plants in the hidden, far back corner. The plants were his mother's daffodils, with spinach green leaves and deep red, almost black, veins. Normally, each of the shoots were topped with a large bloom, star-like in shape with a small bowl in the center. This year, the annual blossoming week had come and passed with no change in status. Only one daffodil grew, a burst of color among the insipid green.

He continued to move after his cursory inspection, stepping off the back porch and onto the natural terrain. His destination was mere steps away, yet he hesitated. Did he really want to do this? Would this solve his problems? He glanced behind him, back towards the house, and his resolve stiffened. If he wanted to be noticed, he was going to have to fight for it. Those final steps were firm with conviction, banishing any unease.

He went to work, pulling out the small red box with textured sides from underneath the untouched stack of old, decaying garden tools. He cursed as he reached for the small bottle of liquid he could now feel dripping down his leg. When he looked back towards his path, the trail gleamed brightly on the dew-less grass. He dismissed it with a sigh, turning back to his half prepared endeavor. He continued to gather a few things here, a few things there, until it was all laid out in front of him.

He pulled the first slender piece of wood out, examining the red tip and one-inch body. He struck it against the box, watching the flame flare before it gnawed at the wood and approached his hand. He held the match high above his pile as he thought back to the morning, when her eyes passed over him, always looking towards his brothers. The feeling of not being good enough, over and over again. The need for attention and love.

He dropped it.

The match hit the stack of oil-drenched grass, lying for a moment before the first piece caught fire. The yellow and orange flames started to spread, moving as a unified force.

The creaking sound of the back door opening and slamming shut had him reeling away from his alcove. Sudden regret smashed into him, leaving him scrambling to cover his deed. Without something to properly quench the fire, he resolved to hide it and put it out after. His mom spotted him, stepping off the shallow porch and onto the grass-covered earth. Her voice was audible throughout the garden, demanding he come back inside and finish his homework. His siblings had, of course, already finished, and he was the last one. His stumbling reply was barely discernible, his attempt to avoid his mother's order futile.

His mother ignored his mumbles as she seemed to smell something funny. He could feel the smoke blowing onto his back, warming it up and cooling it down in one breath. The heat started to overcome the calming breeze, raising the temperature of his back significantly. His mother's face was one of astonishment and fear, and he could tell the blaze had overcome the bush. He slowly turned around, taking in the enormity of the blaze. He glanced back towards her, her scrunched face registering in the back of his brain.

They both moved towards the back door, almost racing each other. His ever-calculating mind did not stop. He felt the heat on the back of his neck, and then he had new idea. He contemplated it, trying to decide whether it was smart. Should he act on his half formed plan, or continue suffering? He kept a steady pace as he turned his torso, eyes tracking his mother. His jailer. His burden.

And he pushed her down.

Her betrayed eyes were all he saw as his head whipped around back towards the door so as not to lose precious seconds. The heat on his neck increased as the flame spread. He jolted as she started to scream for help, shrieks of pure agony. It almost made him turn around, grab the hose, and run to save her, but his pride overcame him. The door seemed to close with spine-chilling finality.

His fear and anger-fueled adrenaline started to fade, replacing itself with guilt and remorse. The emotions overwhelmed him, pinning him in the same spot for moments that felt like hours. He finally peaked back outside, balking at the field of carnage. Most of the greenery had been burned to a crisp, including his beloved childhood playscape. The only thing left was his mother's daffodil bush with its lone floret. The sprouts still seemed fine and healthy, with their olive green stems and the single trumpet like blossom.

The flame continued to approach the house, spreading with surprising speed. The whirling blaze captivated him in a daze reminiscent of hypnosis. His reverie was broken when he realised his body was heating up, starting to burn. The glorious dance replaced itself with the death and destruction it originally reminded him of. His mind, once again, moved into action, prompting him to get away from the flames and fire.

He began to run towards the stairs, away from the flames and towards his parent's room, but the heat and smoke started to overwhelm his senses. Each intake of breath was harrowing and did more harm than helped. His throat, filled with the smog, seemed to close in on itself, banishing any thoughts of escape. The stifling heat finally had a visible source as it continued to approach him. Arms out, trying to find any support through the haze, he flailed his limbs about. The thud of his back against a fireless wall echoed through him as his legs gave out and folded together, letting him drop to the floor. His eyelids started to droop, and he fought his hardest to stay awake, but his mind seemed to flicker off and on. Her eyes were the last thing he saw, staring at him, finally seeing him for who he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is super long because I actually wrote it for a school short story project. 
> 
> Now,
> 
> Beat It. I'm Reading.


	9. The Swim

She pulled her head above the water, lungs pleading for air. Her arms reach above her head, moving her forward. There is noise around her, distracting, calling, pushing. A rush of water from her side pushes her to go faster. She holds her breath just as she goes back under, coming up again with less momentum. She feels herself flip, feet hitting rock, sending her further, faster for a second. Her limbs start to slow, failing under the intense movement. She sees the end, realizing what it means. Her hands hit the wall and she pulls out of the water, legs shaking and clothes dripping. The cheers and screams suddenly come into focus, shouts of excitement and disappointment, cries of love and hate. She moves away, removing goggles and swim cap to reveal her damp, ebony hair with tips of red. She had conquered the waters. She had come first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that it's shorter. 
> 
> Now,
> 
> Beat It. I'm Reading.


	10. 'Till Death Do Us Part

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Mentions of Death and Suicide

Waves, harsh and tall, crash over the boat's sides. The water laps at her feet, dampening the thin soles of her shoes. She rushes towards the men on the far end of the barge, water spraying behind her. At the sound of her approach, her husband turns, fear etched on his face. He yells for her to leave, to go down below. She starts to tug his arm, refusing to move until he joins her. The tugging persists as he pushes her away. A wave crashes over the edge, startling the couple. Her slick shoes start to slide away from his outstretched hand. The ocean rolls again, taking the frightened woman back towards her husband. His back presses against the railing, her chest against his. Yells from farther away are their only warning as a wall of water rises up. She instinctively crouches down, but he makes no move. An agonised scream leaves her wet lips as she watches him plunge backward into the waves. She stares from her place on the deck, ignoring the chaos around her as everything fades to black.

"Mommy? I miss daddy." The trembling child shuffles to his mother's room in search of reassurance. There is no response as the young boy continues to move towards the closed door at the end of the hall. "Mommy?" The 5-year old opens the door to find messy covers on an empty bed. "Mommy, are you in the bathroom?" He ambles forward, turning the knob and pulling open the door. A shriek leaves his tear-stained lips before everything turns black at the sight of his dead mother, floating in the bathtub.


	11. Running Away

Her breath came out of her mouth in short gasps, the sound ragged and tired. "I don't know how much longer I can do this."

The figure next to her panted as well, although not nearly as hard. "We can't stop now. We will be done soon. The end is near!"

They sprinted as fast as they could, the slower one glancing behind her every so often. The other one watched ahead, giving warnings for obstacles and obstructions. The first one started to slow down, coming to a jog, then almost a walk. "Hurry! They might catch us!" The faster one grabbed the other's hand, dragging her more rapidly. They both continued to glance back, watching for their wardens.

The slower one pulled the pair around a corner, both of them finally slowing down to a walk. "Okay, I never want to do that again. Why did we let our dads convince us to go on a run?"

Her friend chuckled. "Well, at least we managed to get out of their view. Now we don't have to actually do anything."

"Thank god."


End file.
